I said nothing.
Sellers chewed on his cigar and said, “Of course, it could be bait. Whenever we catch you off first base, you try to tie in what you’re doing with some case the police are interested in and want solved. We give you a lot of leeway because we think you may turn up with something we want. Come to think of it, you’ve pulled that trick in the last couple of cases.”
Sellers’ eyes narrowed. “You know, Lam,” he said, “that’s the trouble with you. You’re a pint-size and it’s awfully damned easy to underestimate you.”
Elsie Brand was back, breathless with excitement and with the book under her arm.
“Here it is, Mr. Lam,” she said, and bent over me. I could feel her breath on my cheek.
She put the book on my lap and her left hand gave my arm a re* assuring squeeze.
“Something about the thirteenth of August,” I said. “Have you got them dated?”
Her nimble fingers turned the pages. “Here we are,” she said.
“Was there a hit-and-run on August thirteenth?”
“Yes, yes. Right here!”
I looked at the clipping, then passed it over to Sergeant Sellers. “There you are, Sergeant,” I said. “On the highway between Colinda and Los Angeles, a car weaving around the road sideswipes one car, goes out of control into a bus stop, kills two people and keeps going. All attempts to trace the car futile.”
Sellers said, “I’ll just ask a couple of questions. Elsie, you’re this guy’s secretary.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was this scene rehearsed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was it on the up and up? Did he play it straight? Had you told him about this hit-and-run before?”
“Oh, no, sir. I hadn’t even noticed it before, myself. I simply kept the scrapbooks.”
Sellers turned to me. “You got any evidence that ties into this picture, Lam, or are you just playing it by ear and had a lucky break?”
“I have evidence that ties into it,” I said. “The accident was supposed to be at three-thirty but I can produce a witness who will swear that Holgate’s car was undamaged as late as four-thirty in the afternoon. This bus stop hit-and-run accident took place at six-twenty.”
Sellers said, “That’s not in my department, but I’ll bet the traffic boys would sure as hell like to clear that one up. We don’t like to have these hit-and-run drivers get away without being caught. It gives too much encouragement to drunk drivers.”
Hawley said suddenly, “Here, wait a minute. Holgate is our client, Lam. He’s covered with our company. You’re getting us out of the frying pan into the fire.”
“I don’t make the facts,” I said. “I uncover them.”
Hawley said, “This is uncovering something we aren’t going to like.”
Sellers looked him over for a moment and said, “You wouldn’t want to compound a felony, would you?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Well, if Lam is right about this thing, we’d better find out about it and you’d better give us all the co-operation necessary.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Hawley said. “I was only commenting on an obvious aspect of the case.”
“Well, don’t comment on the obvious,” Sellers said. “It isn’t necessary.” He looked at me and started chewing on his cigar.
“Well?” I asked.
“I just don’t know about you,” Sellers said. “Once you start talking, you charm the birds out of the trees and— Hell, I just don’t know.”
Sellers looked at the account again, then went over to Bertha Cool’s telephone, picked it up, dialed a number, said, “Sergeant Sellers talking. I want to speak with Captain Andover in Traffic.”
A moment later he said, “Bill, this is Frank Sellers. I’m on the line of something that may clean up a hit-and-run accident that took place August thirteenth between Colinda and Los Angeles. A couple of people killed in a bus stop around six-twenty — drunk driver.
“Now, you got any witnesses that could give us any help there?”
Sellers listened for a while and said, “Now, don’t get me wrong. I just said I was working on something that might, just possibly might, give us a lead on cleaning that up... Look, I’m going to drive around there after a while. I’ll have someone with me. You get everything lined up.”
Sellers hung up the phone, looked at me and shook his head. “Every time I think we’ve got you on the ropes, you come bobbing up behind me somewhere. Now dammit, Lam, if you’re taking me for a ride on this thing, I’ll... well, I’ll give you something you won’t forget in a hurry.”
Sellers looked at his watch, looked over at Bertha and said, “I told an officer to have Chris Maxton, who’s Holgate’s partner, brought in here. Now, I’m going to have to leave before he gets here but when he comes I want you—”
The phone rang.
Bertha picked it up, said, “Hello,” listened for a moment, then turned to Sellers and said, “They’re here now.”
“You have them come right on in,” Sellers said. “We’ll just take time to button up this angle before we go any farther.”
Bertha said, “Send them in,” and hung up the phone.
The door opened. One of the officers who had been at the airport stood on the threshold and said, “Come on in, Maxton.”
The man who came in was the heavy-set man I had met at Elsie Brand’s apartment, the one who had given me the two hundred and fifty dollars.
He looked at me, said, “You two-timing crook!” and started forward.
Sellers shoved out an expert foot and tripped him.
“Back into line, Buddy,” Sellers said. “You don’t like him? What’s the matter?”
“Don’t like him!” Maxton yelled. “The cheap crook! He took me for two hundred and fifty bucks.”
“Tell us about it,” Sellers said.
“There isn’t anything much to tell,” Maxton said. “My partner—”
“What’s his name?”
“Carter Jackson Holgate.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“Well, my partner was involved in an automobile accident and I wanted to find some witnesses. I put an ad in the paper—”
“Use your name?” Sellers asked.
“No, it was just a box number.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“I put an ad in the paper offering two hundred and fifty dollars for a witness who had seen the accident. This cheap crook sent me a letter saying he had, and gave me a telephone number. He was supposed to be the brother of some woman named Elsie Brand, who has an apartment here in the city. He was supposed to be visiting her. He told a convincing enough story and I handed him two hundred and fifty bucks. Then I found out the accident didn’t happen that way at all and he’s a liar, he didn’t see it.”
Sellers looked at me.
“Why did you want a witness to the accident?” I asked.
“You know why. Because you always want witnesses to accidents.”
“Your partner was insured?”
“Of course he was insured. It’s partnership insurance. We wouldn’t drive any of the cars without having insurance on them, public liability and property damage up to the limit.”
“And your partner admitted that the accident was his fault?”
“Well, what if he did?”
“Well, why did you want witnesses?”
“I don’t have to let you ask questions.”
“And,” I said, “after your first ad for a hundred dollars didn’t bring forth a witness, your next ad ran for two hundred and fifty dollars.”
Maxton turned and said to Sellers, “You’re an officer?”
“That’s right.”
“All right, you seem to be in charge here,” Maxton said. “I don’t have to let this crook cross-examine me.”